Cuffed
by northernexposure
Summary: Beckett and Castle have a difficult evening. Short, speculative 'missing scene' based on the title of an upcoming ep. Further explanation inside. Beckett/Castle centric. POSSIBLE SPOILERS.


**Author's note:**

OK, so, a while ago I noticed that one of the upcoming episodes (possibly next week, can't remember) is called 'Cuffed'. I didn't look any further into the details, but what immediately sprang into my mind (of course) was the idea that somehow, Beckett and Castle would end up physically cuffed together for the episode. (Presumably the cuffs in question would have to have a bomb attached so they can't just cut them off. Whatever.) Then, after watching the fantastic episode nine, this sprang into my head. I don't have time to write the rest of the story, but I figured this could fit in as a speculative 'What I'd love to happen but won't' scene anyway. Hope you like it.

**Cuffed**

They had been so caught up with winning the battle of being allowed to sleep somewhere other than the station that neither of them had really thought about what that victory would mean. Castle and Beckett arrived at his apartment tired, frazzled, and joined at the wrist by means of a device that would, in – Rick checked the digital read-out – exactly 17 hours, 25 minutes and 52 – oh, no, make that 53 – seconds, blow them both to Kingdom Come. He glanced at Beckett, who for the first time since all this began seemed to be a little unsure of herself. He wondered if the same thing that he'd just thought of had occurred to her, too. He watched as she glanced around his uncharacteristically quiet home, reaching up with her free hand to rub her right shoulder.

"Where are Martha and Alexis?" He detected a hint of strain beneath her question.

_Not __here, __thank __god_, he thought. Not because he was glad to be alone with Beckett, but because it meant they would not be sleeping in a house with a live bomb threat.

"Mother's running an overnight acting class – she wanted her students to 'immerse themselves in the simple beauty of the dark', or something. Alexis is having a girls' night out and sleepover at her friend Emmy's. I thought it best not to ask for details."

There was too much forced brightness in his tone, he knew, but Rick wasn't sure how else to lift the sudden awkward tension that had layered itself like fog across them.

"So," he ventured, as Beckett's silence continued. "What do you want to do? Are you hungry?" He gestured at the kitchen with his unencumbered hand. "I can whip up a mean omelette, even one-handed. Or – do you want to watch a film? I just got _Senna_on Blu-ray. Trust me, even if you don't like motorsport, it's an amazing documentary."

Beckett shook her head. "You know, it's been a tough day. I'm really tired. Do you think –" and her cheeks grew rosy at what she was about to say, "- do you think we could just go to bed?"

He blinked. "Yes. I mean – yeah, it's been a long day. Bed - sleep - is a good idea."

She nodded, but didn't say anything else, and he realised she was waiting for him to show her where to go. He swallowed. The tension had ratcheted up another notch, and he tried to batten it down beneath his gut. He wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't imagined leading Beckett to his bedroom many times before, but the reality – this reality, anyway – seemed about a million times more potent, though he hadn't thought that were possible. And considering the distinctly un-sexy reason for them sleeping in the same bed tonight, he couldn't begin to imagine how he'd be feeling if they were heading to his room for other, less innocent reasons...

Castle swiftly avoided the mental dead end that his thoughts were threatening to drag him into. "Uh," he said, clearing his throat, "well, this way."

He led her up the stairs, Beckett hanging a step behind him as if reluctant, despite her obvious exhaustion.

"Here we are," he said, kicking himself again for the forced joviality. This was Beckett, for god's sake. They'd been partners for years now. He'd seen at her at her best, and at her worst. All he had to do now was sleep in a bed beside her for a night, while their lives were in mortal danger, without making a total fool of himself. He could do that. Right?

They stood in the doorway, contemplating his bedroom. As often happened when you saw a familiar place as if through the eyes of others, Rick found himself criticizing the space. It was too masculine, too long without a – though he cringed at the phrase – woman's touch. The bed was large – king-sized, with a deep brown leather headboard that showed off the cream sheets as clean, but functional rather than inviting. Against the wall opposite, just high enough to watch if you were propped against the pillows, there was a 42-inch HD TV set. It stood on a wooden chest of drawers stained the same colour as the bed's head. The carpet was deep pile, cream. Luxurious on bare feet, but there were no rugs, no colour, to break up the expanse.

"Nice," was Beckett's only comment.

"Thanks," Rick said, clearing his throat again. "The en-suite's through here…"

He moved to lead her to the door in the far wall, but Beckett held back. Castle looked at her, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Castle," she said, in the tone of voice she used when tackling a problem. "How are we going to do this?"

He found himself blinking again. "Do… what?"

"This." She waved her hand in an expansive gesture that took in both of them and the bed. "Getting into... that… together when we're chained at the wrist. Look, for a start, I don't know about you, but I don't want to get undressed."

"Okay," he said, a little floored. He honestly hadn't got that far yet.

"It's just," she went on in a rush, as if he hadn't spoken, "if we... I don't know, get a call, and have to rush out – it's going to be hard enough to get undressed quickly, let alone dressed again. I mean," Kate waved her hand again, this time at herself. She was wearing a dark blue fitted shirt that buttoned in the front. "I can't even begin to work out how to get this thing off as it is. So – let's not bother. To be honest, I'm so tired I could even sleep in my boots."

He dragged his eyes from her shirt to the boots peeking from beneath her black tailored slacks. They were also black, with the kind of heels that turned up in certain types of photographs. Calendars, usually. He could imagine the wearer draped over the hood of a car dressed in little else.

"I won't, though," she added, her tirade (which he recognised with some hope as being born of a nervousness approaching the level of his own) at an end. "If you help me take them off, I'll return the favour."

Castle didn't say anything else for a while. He didn't think it was wise. He switched off the light, instead, something that Beckett let pass without comment, as if she were relieved the actions that would follow would happen in darkness. They manhandled themselves and each other just enough to remove their footwear and watches. Rick took off his jeans belt, too – something he found he could do one-handed, thankfully, and Beckett took off her holster. After that, they lay on the bed, side-by-side, on their backs in the dark, fully-clothed in the street gear they'd been wearing all day. They stared at the ceiling, in their silence caught a multitude of thoughts neither was willing or ready to voice. Their hands rested closer together than a whisper, and yet not close enough. Castle was trapped by the thought that Kate Beckett – _Kate __Beckett!_– was in his bed, and if he were to turn on his side, he'd be able to see her lying on her back, next to him, right there. Right now.

"Poke me if I snore," Castle said, into the thick silence, because he couldn't think of anything else to say, and he was scared that if one of them didn't pierce the fog soon, he would do something very stupid.

"Castle, if you snore," Beckett said, her voice inexplicably husky, "I'll shoot you."

"Understood."

They were silent for a few more minutes, watching the darkened ceiling as if it could somehow reveal the secrets of the universe. And then Rick reached to turn on the light that stood on the table by her side of the bed. He didn't need to do it himself – Beckett could have found the switch easily enough. Hell, what did they need a light for, anyway? But doing so meant leaning over her, closer in a way he had rarely been and could not now resist. His sly stretch meant they were just inches apart and almost face to face, and indeed they would have been had he not kept his gaze firmly on the lamp. He flicked the switch, and a soft, glowing light illuminated the bed. It was a night light, for reading at most, and the yellow cast the room - and them - in shades and shadow.

He looked down at Beckett, a thing he could not help, but it was his second and biggest mistake. His left leg was pressed warmly against her right, his right hip curving toward her. Their hands were touching now, just, lying lightly against the coverlet. Her hair was down, spread across the pillow, curling slightly in the warm night air of New York City. The uppermost buttons of the dark blue shirt she wore had come undone, and it tapered to a lazy 'v' between her breasts, so that the curve of the simple black bra she wore beneath was showing.

Something else was showing, too. It hovered over Kate's heart, an almost perfect circle of scar tissue, etched into her skin where the sniper's bullet had ripped through her uniform. Castle had never seen it before. It turned him inside out, and he remembered those moments after he had failed to save her from the shot, and he remembered the words he'd said that she swore she had not heard. And he felt them again, every one, rising like a tide in his head, in his heart.

Rick flicked his gaze to Kate's face. Her lips were parted, slightly, her brown eyes huger than ever as she watched him look at her. He turned back to the scar on her chest, and then lifted his free hand - the one that wasn't cuffed to hers - to gently touch his fingers to the damaged circle of skin. Kate inhaled sharply, quietly, her breath then coming fast and shallow.

Leaning in, he replaced his fingers with his lips, pressing them gently where the bullet had struck. Kate moved her hips, rolling them against the bed, an involuntary shifting at the sensation. Rick opened his mouth, brushing his bottom lip over the ragged, hard skin of the tiny scar as his top one slid over the warm, whole skin above it. He wondered how this felt to Kate, the difference of touch between the scar tissue and her unharmed self. She smelled of perfume. It was nothing overpowering, just the same gentle scent she always wore on duty - but this close to her naked skin it enveloped him, as if the scent and her through it was filling him from the inside out. He breathed her in, deeper, deeper, and suddenly their hands were clasped together, and he was moving his lips from the scar, higher...

A phone rang. It was Kate's cell. She'd laid it beside her gun on the bedside table. The shrill sound startled them both. Rick froze, his lips against Beckett's skin. She didn't move for a second, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Then she turned, slightly, reaching for the handset, the hand bound to his fighting free of his fingers.

Castle struggled to roll away from her, his heart thumping so hard he could only feel the blood rushing in his ears, not hear it.

Beckett pushed herself up against the pillows. She took a breath, and then flipped open her phone. "Beckett." There was a second's silence and then. "No, I'm fine, just… tired. What is it?"

She sat up straighter. And then she was swinging her legs from the bed, momentarily forgetting they were fastened together.

"We're on our way," she said. "Give us twenty." She hung up, and turned to him. Her hair was half-over her face, and he almost reached out to brush it away. "That was Espo. They've found the guy's bomb factory. They know how to disarm this thing. Let's go."

And just like that, his lips on her scar joined the list of things they never talked about.

[END]


End file.
